


Because You Want Me

by Elizabeethan



Series: It's About Bloody Time [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Universe, F/M, Fluff, No Curse, Post-Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Season 3, Secret Relationship, Smut, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: Emma Swan can’t stop having sex with Killian Jones. With Captain Hook. Her 10-year-old self would be cringing. What has her life become?She finds herself wondering just that a few times during their journey back to Storybrooke, but is immediately distracted by the feel of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his hook touching her skin. Each time she sees his strong presence at the helm of his ship, she wonders what she’s gotten herself into, and each time they come together, she finds herself not caring.The voyage back to Storybrooke is not very long, about a day and a half. They’ve met in secret on his ship four times.She’s just about to tell herself that this is wrong, that she shouldn’t be doing this-- not with him, not for a fifth time—when she feels his fingers sliding down her torso and into her jeans, resting above her panties, pressing gently where she aches for him. Suddenly, the thoughts leave her mind.A follow-up to It's About Bloody Time. They return to Storybrooke, but there's no Pan body switch and no second curse.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard
Series: It's About Bloody Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926880
Comments: 26
Kudos: 149
Collections: The Great Captain Swan No-Curse Renaissance





	Because You Want Me

Emma Swan can’t stop having sex with Killian Jones.

With _Captain Hook._

Her 10-year-old self would be cringing.

What has her life become?

She finds herself wondering just that a few times during their journey back to Storybrooke, but is immediately distracted by the feel of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his _hook_ touching her skin. Each time she sees his strong presence at the helm of his ship, she wonders what she’s gotten herself into, and each time they come together, she finds herself not caring.

The voyage back to Storybrooke is not very long, about a day and a half. They’ve met in secret on his ship four times.

She’s just about to tell herself that this is wrong, that she shouldn’t be doing this-- not with him, not for a fifth time—when she feels his fingers sliding down her torso and into her jeans, resting above her panties, pressing gently where she aches for him. Suddenly, the thoughts leave her mind.

He’s kissing her with fervor, as they need to be quick in their task of reaching their pleasure. It is the middle of the day, after all, and they expect to make port in Storybrooke in just a few hours, having just landed back in the sea. But even as they make haste, she feels better than she’s ever felt before. It’s absolutely insane to her that a person can make her feel this good.

He breaks away from her mouth briefly, pushing her jeans down to her knees before pinning her against the beam once more. They're in a shadowy corner of the crew’s cabin surrounded by barrels and hammocks, and the knowledge that anyone could feasibly walk in on them is both horrifying and exhilarating. It also serves to ensure that they move more quickly, hoping to finish the task at hand before anyone has a chance to notice that they both went missing at the same time.

She feels his fingers pressing warmly against her again, although he hasn’t moved her underwear yet. It feels good, sure, but it isn’t nearly enough, and she has a feeling that he knows this. He’s still circling the point of his hook against her clothed breast, teasing at her nipples as he often enjoys doing.

Before she has a chance to chastise him for torturing her, he dives his hand below the fabric, his fingers dancing delicately as they move down to collect some of her arousal, then swirling against her clit with the perfect amount of pressure and speed.

She throws her head back against the hard wooden beam, a groan drawing from her as she tugs on the back of his hair. With the loud thump that her head makes, she stills, fearing that the noises could alert the others aboard the ship of their location.

“Alright, love?” he asks against her throat, threatening to suck another bruise into her skin. She’s had to work very diligently to ensure that her hair covers the one he’s already given her.

“I was just worried that someone might hear us.”

He hums softly into her skin and stalls his ministrations against her. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, pulling away to look her in the eye. He isn’t asking to be cocky, but rather to ensure that she wants this as much as she knows he does.

“God no,” she breathes.

He smirks and returns his mouth to her neck, plunging a finger into her and then adding a second while his thumb expertly works against her clit. She could come so quickly from this, but she wants more.

“Get inside me, Killian.” She’s so breathless that it comes out like a whisper, the demanding tone she was aiming for falling short but not quite losing its potency.

He’s practically growling when he pulls his fingers from her, undoing the laces of his pants and pulling them down just far enough. She pulls hers down all the way after struggling with her boots before he lifts her. Her back is pressed against the beam and it’s almost painful, but she suddenly gets distracted by his erection pressing against her, moving gently along her wet folds. She realizes it’s difficult for him to angle himself while supporting her weight, so she reaches between them and does it for him. She opens to him immediately as he presses inside of her. If she had any thoughts before about someone hearing, or knowing where they were, or the beam bruising the skin of her back, they're immediately eradicated at the feeling of his cock sheathed tightly inside of her.

It’s fast, as it has been each time they’ve been in this position, but she doesn’t mind. The speed at which he can unravel her is impressive, as is the fact that he has not yet failed to ensure that she has finished before he lets himself go inside of her. Before she can really even think about it, his thumb is pressing against her clit and she’s clenching around him, exploding into a state of bliss like she’s never known and will likely never find elsewhere, shoving fabric aside and biting into the spot where his shoulder meets his neck to silence the screams that threaten to escape her. When she feels him emptying himself inside of her, it makes her own orgasm linger.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she mumbles. Her breaths are coming out in pants and her face is still pressed against his shoulder and his into her neck.

“My thoughts exactly, love. Sorry if that was too quick.”

“It wasn’t,” she whispers back.

“I couldn’t stop myself from wanting you when I saw you bracing yourself as we landed. How you managed to make grabbing onto a piece of rope look so undeniably sexy is a mystery to me.”

She chuckles as he drops his hook from behind her knee, allowing her to stand but steadying her as she missteps slightly with her wobbly legs and the rock of the ship. “I could say the same about you behind the wheel, Captain.”

He’s presses his nose below her ear and growls lightly against her skin before nipping there, making her gasp. Rather than respond, he pulls away from her and pulls a cloth from the pocket of his greatcoat. She realizes that he never fully took it off, just slouched it down his arms, which shouldn’t arouse her as much as it does.

Once she’s cleaned up, she pulls her pants back up then zips up her boots before smoothing her hair as much as she can, pulling some of it over her shoulder to hide her bruise. She hums softly in question to him and he smiles softly. It’s a smile she’s only ever seen him give to her. “Very presentable, Swan.”

“I’ve been thinking about when we get home,” she starts. He’s pulling up his own trousers as she speaks.

“Aye? We’ll make port very shortly.”

“I was thinking more of after that.” He gives her an expectant look, hoping she’ll go on. She hesitates, struggling to say what she needs to say but pushing herself into it. “About Neal.”

She sees his face fall slightly before he turns away from her. “Swan, if you’ve changed your mind, you need only say the words-”

“Not like that, Hook. I was thinking about how he’s going to try to get back in my good graces. I was thinking about how to let him down without tipping him off that I’m having an affair with his mortal enemy.”

“I’m hardly his mortal enemy, Swan.” He’s walking towards the door, but he hasn’t opened it yet.

“He can’t seem to just take no for an answer,” she continues, pressing on despite the confused and perhaps hurt look on his face. “I have a feeling that if he had the chance to try and win me back and he still failed, he would back off more permanently.”

His brows pinch together and although his hand is resting on the handle of the door, he continues to listen to her. “What are you saying, love?”

“I was thinking, maybe if you told him you were backing off and he tried then, he would see that it’s not anything to do with me having to choose between the two of you. That it’s about him and me not working out and me being genuinely uninterested.”

She can tell that he’s unhappy without needed to see the scowl on his face. “Don’t you think that’s a bit… problematic, Swan? That you should feel the need to manipulate the man into not pursuing you?”

“This whole situation is problematic, Hook. I really don’t see him leaving me alone unless he sees that it’s us not working out and not some outside force keeping us apart,” she says with a roll to her eyes. She’ll admit that this may not be her brightest plan, but she really can’t see any other way to get Neal off of her back for good.

“If this is what you want, love, I’ll do it… I just worry that he may see this as an opportunity…”

“I told you already, I don’t wanna be with him.”

“Aye, and I told you that I would wait for you to make your decision about me.” She hears what he isn’t saying. Hears that he wanted to say _about us_. She can see it in his face, too, his eyes downcast and the smallest frown on his lips.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, taking his hand from the knob and holding it in her own.

“No, how could I ever be mad at you,” he replies, smiling softly, sadly, and she can see that this is killing him. “Just promise me one thing, Swan?”

She’s hesitant to agree, but nods.

“Promise me that once things are truly over with Baelfire, you’ll consider…” She hears it again. _Us_.

Rather than responding, she pulls his hand up to her heart with one hand and reaches for the back of his hair with the other, pulling him down to her and pressing a soft kiss upon his lips.

“We should really go,” she says. “We’re probably getting close to the port and everyone’s gonna be looking for you soon.”

“You as well, Swan.”  
  


“Hmm, but I’m not the captain.”

When they finally do reach the port in Storybrooke, much of the town’s residents are waiting for them. There’s talks of heroes and hard work, and when her mother gives special credit to Regina, Emma feels something flaring in the pit of her stomach. She’ll admit that having her magic was helpful, but she wonders why Regina was credited so heavily when it was Hook’s ship, guidance, and knowledge of the island that truly aided in their success. The fact that his contributions are completely brushed over makes her feel irritated-- and confused at the fact that it makes her irritated.

Sure, she can try and convince herself that what they’re doing is purely physical. That it’s just sex, and nothing more. That he doesn’t understand her more clearly than any other person she’s ever met.

But that hasn’t really been working over the last few days.

When they arrive at Granny’s and she sees him at the counter with his mug of ale talking to Neal, she feels another fire burning in the pit of her stomach, but it isn’t anger or resentment this time.

He was right about Neal taking the opportunity and running with it. As soon as Hook leaves Granny’s, Neal is next to Emma, asking her to join her for lunch tomorrow. She doesn’t say yes because she can’t. She can’t get the look of Hook’s face when they talked about this on the ship out of her head. She knows that it’s killing him and that’s killing her, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Not yet.

She doesn’t go to lunch.

~~~~

Five weeks go by, and she and Henry have made themselves more than comfortable in the upper level of Mary Margaret’s loft. Surprisingly, there aren’t any emergencies taking up her time, and she’s able to spend her energy building up her relationship with her son. (Apparently that takes a lot of energy, as she’s continuously finding herself exhausted.) He’s started to spend more time with Regina as well and spends a few nights a week with her.

Neal is still staying at Granny’s and she and Regina won’t let Henry sleep there with him, but she does allow him to spend a few evenings a week having dinner with him.

He hasn’t really given up trying to get close to her, and rather than indulge him individually, she sometimes joins Henry for dinner with him. She enjoys the look on his face when he sees his parents together.

On a Tuesday night, she’s so exhausted she might just collapse in the middle of the floor. Once she’s ready for bed, her teeth flossed and brushed, her birth control diligently taken, and her hair messily braided, she curls into the full-sized mattress and pulls the quilt to her chin, drifting into a fitful sleep.

She dreams of Henry and the absolute dread that came with seeing Pan grab his heart and thrust it into his own chest. She dreams of Hook and Neal in the Dark Hollow and how near she came to losing them. She dreams of crushed look on his face when she asked him to put her needs above his own. And when she wakes up with a start, she sees Henry sleeping soundly in the twin bed next to her and feels slight relief at the knowledge that he’s here and okay, not on Neverland. Then a crushing sense of guilt squeezes on her heart and her lungs until she can’t lay still in her bed any longer. When she checks the time and sees it’s only 12:08, she gets up, quietly changes into leggings and a sweatshirt, and walks down the stairs, leaving a note on the counter to let her family know that she’s going for a walk to clear her head, just in case, and heads out the door.

It isn’t like she doesn’t know where she’s going. A part of her knows that she’s on her way to the pier before she even thinks to head in that direction. After all, it’s not as if this is the first time she’s gotten up in the night and gone to him.

When she arrives and steps onto the gangplank, she can see the soft glow of a lantern coming from below deck.

“Permission to come aboard?” she calls loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to cause a ruckus. He appears quickly.

“Swan, what a surprise,” he says, and she thinks she can see the faintest smile on his face and wonders if he truly finds her being there surprising. “Permission granted, love.”

“What are you doing up so late?” she asks once she’s aboard his ship. He reaches a hand out to her to help her onto the deck.

“Sleep never comes easily to a pirate captain. What about you?”

“Same.”

He’s chuckling. “I always knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan,” he jokes, and she can’t keep the smile off her face. _Dammit._

“I kept having nightmares,” she says more seriously.

“A common response to trauma, I’ve found.”

“Yeah, I guess. I kept seeing you getting your shadow ripped away.”

He leads her below deck, no doubt trying to remove them from the chill of the autumn air. “Luckily, I had you there to save me, aye?” She scoffs softly, unable to take the compliment. “What brought you all the way out here at such an hour, love?”

She shrugs. He offers her his flask but she shakes her head, knowing that if she drank she would be saying goodbye to any chance she has to sleep tonight.

“I don’t know…”

“Come sit down, Swan?”

She obliges, sitting on a chair next to him, across from what she knows to be his chair on the other side of the desk. It’s interesting to see where he works, and the fact that this is also where he sleeps, and she can see his bunk, doesn’t get past her either.

“I’m sorry, Hook,” she says, without planning to.

“For what, love?”

“I didn’t realize… I guess you were right about Neal. He keeps asking me out and I just… I didn’t realize that this would be this difficult. Like… between us. And everything else.”

“I see,” he says diplomatically, and she’s finding it hard to look at him, to turn her body towards his and face him. “I wish you wouldn’t apologize though.”

“Why? You were right.”

“Aye, maybe, but it’s not as if I wanted to be. No matter what happens, he’s still the father of your child. I don’t want you to feel like you need to put on this elaborate plan just to get Baelfire to stop pining after you.”

She’s lost in his words again; in the way he talks about her son. It's as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking before she even knows she’s thinking it. It’s also difficult for her to comprehend the impact that this has on them, so rather than focus on that she changes the subject completely. “It always throws me off when you call him that,” she says, finally turning to him and giving him a soft smile.

“I suppose I’ve always known him as Baelfire. Although you do often call me Hook,” he smirks.

“I call you Killian sometimes.”

“Usually it’s only when we’re sharing the bed, love,” he smiles softly at her now, and she thinks she can make out a hint of genuineness in his sarcasm.

“Hmm, I don’t know, we haven’t had sex in a bed that much. We tend to favor tables, doors, barrels…” She’s grinning now, as is he.

“We can certainly change that one day, darling.”

“Why wait?” she asks boldly, and suddenly she realizes that she doesn’t need sleep anytime soon.

He’s smirking, his tongue snaking out along his bottom lip as he stands and then leans all the way down to her level and runs his fingers delicately along her jawline.

“Did you come here merely to be let into my bed, Swan?” he asks with a cocky grin, his lips finding that damn spot under her ear.

“It wasn’t my intention, but it’s certainly an added bonus,” she responds with a soft smile. It’s true; when she got out of bed and started walking towards the pier, she didn’t even think about the possibility of having sex with Hook. She’s not sure what scares her more: the fact that she’s about to have sex with him _again_ , or the fact that she came here seeking something besides sex.

“Well, I am more than happy to oblige on that front,” he says, his tongue slipping out from between his lips on her neck, soothing the slight ache he’s just created.

She hums rather than responding verbally, relishing in the feeling of his hand softly moving up her side under her top. She feels his grin against her neck when he discovers that she never bothered to put a bra on.

“Did you walk all the way here in the freezing cold?” he asks, his fingers running against her nipple as it stands at attention.

“Mhmm,” she hums again.

“All while displaying yourself this indecently? That’s quite naughty, isn’t it, Swan?” His fingers pinch her nipple lightly now, drawing a sigh from her.

“What are you gonna do about it?” she dares.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to warm you up.”

“Shouldn’t be that difficult.”

When his hand cups and lightly squeezes her breast, she hisses. “Alright?” he asks, pulling away a bit and sporting a worried look.

“Yeah, just, I’m a little sore I guess.” His face doesn’t change, and she’s forced to elaborate. “I think I’m… expecting my… cycle… soon,” she says awkwardly.

“Ah, I see. Would you… do you want to stop?”

“ _God_ no. I should still have a few days.”

With the awkward exchange lingering between them, his mouth finds hers in a hurried kiss, and she reaches up to her favorite spot at the back of his head, twirling her fingers through his soft hair. He reaches his hand around her waist to her lower back and pulls gently, prompting her to stand with him, then he hoists her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carries her to his small bunk before settling her tenderly down on the mattress. She keeps her legs around him, arms around his neck, and pulls him down with her until his body is settled on top of hers. She relishes in the weight of him on her every time they meet like this, as if the heaviness of his body grounds her. Her own personal weighted blanket, she thinks.

She would happily continue to kiss him for the rest of the night, longer, but when he separates from her mouth and moves his own down her jaw, neck, chest, stomach, she doesn’t mind. His hand and hook trace back up her stomach under her shirt, so she lifts herself to allow him to remove it swiftly. She catches him smirking again at her bare breasts.

Before he can continue to undress her, she returns the favor and pulls on his ostentatious shirt until he takes it off, then he unties his laces and pulls his leather trousers off of his legs. For the first time since they’ve been together, she reaches up for the straps of his brace, but he shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” she says, soothingly rubbing along his neck above the straps.

“It isn’t very sightly, love.”

“I don’t care, I want to see all of you. I want to feel you.” What she means is that she wants to feel his skin against hers, rather than the aged leather.

He nods, and she can tell that it’s difficult for him to give up control and allow her to remove the brace from him, but when she does, she feels relief. The injury is certainly not sightly. But it isn’t much worse than anything she could’ve conjured up in her own head, considering her minimal knowledge of medical treatment at the time that it happened. She runs her fingers gently along the battered skin and feels him shiver. She shivers along with him, realizing that this is bringing them into uncharted territory. They only recently began having sex fully unclothed, and now they're taking one more step. The thought should scare her, but once again she finds herself more excited and calm than frightened.

When he starts tugging her leggings off, almost as though he’s physically trying to change the subject, it’s as if he can’t remove them fast enough. Once they're gone, her underwear sliding off along with them, his breath catches, and he starts pressing kisses against her hips.

“ _Gods,_ love. The things you do to me…” The way that his voice sounds absolutely wrecked after only being with her for a few moments drives her mad. She can’t respond to him verbally, so she plunges her hands into his hair again and tugs, pulling his head slightly so that she can look into his eyes.

As blue meets green, emotions start flowing freely within her and she finds herself struggling to hold them back. She wonders how her face must look; wonders if it matches his. She feels a slight prick behind her eyes and draws her brows together. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ she thinks

He gives her an out from answering herself when his hand pushes her legs farther apart, drawing his fingers ardently down her inner thigh before meeting her core. She’s relieved, both at the feeling of his skin on hers where she’s throbbing and at the excuse she’s been given to throw her head back and break eye contact from him, although she notices that she was the one to break it first.

His swollen lips meet her clit, sucking and licking at her adeptly as if he’s been doing it for his whole life. She catches herself jokingly thinking that he’s had at least 200 years of practice, then feels a slight twinge of jealousy. _Where did that come from?_ she wonders.

He truly is a master at his craft, two fingers sinking deeply inside her and pressing against her in the spot that he found immediately, after only their first time together. She’s so close already, and just the feeling of his mouth and fingers working over her for a few minutes has her ready to implode.

Her hands are in their usual spot in his hair, but she stops pressing his head into her and fucking his face and instead pulls on his hair until he stops, suddenly craving more of him. “I want you inside me, Killian,” she says. The fact that she uses his name, not his _more colorful moniker_ , doesn’t slip past her.

He obliges quickly, giving her one last kiss before he pulls his fingers from her center and is running them along his own erection.

“Fuck,” she breaths out. He moves his body up until his mouth is on hers, pressing hungry kisses to her lips, tongue running along them until she allows him entrance. “I never thought I would be into tasting myself like that, but I think you’ve ruined me.”

“Well you taste absolutely divine, darling. You should give yourself more credit.” She knows he’s probably smirking, but she’s kissing him again and she can’t be assed to care about what cocky face he must be making.

Before she can think, he’s inside her and she feels fuller than ever. It never ceases to amaze her how well he fits into her, stretching her to the hilt. His thrusts are slow and calculated, deep and comforting. His mouth runs along her jaw, pressing lustful kisses to her skin as he continues to drive into her until she’s moaning louder than she ever did with another lover. He moans too, whispering curses and encouragements into her ear as he kisses and nips at the lobe.

Normally, she finds that she would need some kind of stimulation against her clit, but with Killian at this angle, pressed so close to her and thrusting so deeply, his pelvis is creating enough pressure and friction that she feels close already. As he fucks into her, her nails scratch along his back and she can’t imagine how it will look in the morning. She knows he’s close too when his thrusts become slightly shorter, swifter, but he doesn’t let himself finish until she does. Once she reaches her peak, he lets himself go and they're both falling, holding onto each other on their way down. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so physically close to someone she’s having sex with, never mind emotionally.

When they’re finished, and she’s laying naked in his arms and facing him, his fingers grazing gently across her brow bone, she feels more content and relaxed than she thinks she ever has. This surprises her, as she thinks she and Hook may have just _made love_ , and she isn’t really freaking out that much.

“My birthday’s this Thursday, you know,” she whispers into the dark.

“Is it?”

“Aye,” she says with a smirk, and he laughs while he kisses her. “Mary Margaret is gonna host dinner. I had to convince her not to throw a ball.”

He chuckles. “That sounds lovely, darling.”

“Would you come?” She isn’t feeling especially confident in her question until she sees his bright smile and feels him pull her closer to him with his blunted arm, his knee lifting slightly higher between her legs.

“I haven’t been invited,” he says jokingly.

“I just invited you.”

His face sobers slightly. “I just wouldn’t want to cause any commotion amongst your family, love.”

“I don’t care, you're my friend and I want you to come to my birthday party.”

“I’m your friend?”

“Something like that,” she smirks, and though she tried to use a sarcastic tone, she knows it came out sounding more serious. Though she’s unsure what to call him, she knows that he isn’t quite her friend.

He chuckles again, his nose running lightly against her, and says, “then it would be my honor to attend the royal princess’s birthday extravaganza.”

~~~~

When she wakes and the dull light of the red sunrise hits her, she feels so relaxed that she thinks she can go back to sleep for a week. The warmth of his firm body pressed to her back lulls her, attempting to drag her back under, and the feel of his warm breath against the back of her neck tickles and feels soothing all at once. She realizes she didn’t have a single nightmare, and here in Hook’s arms, she feels safer than she has in quite a long time.

Wait…

_Shit._

She jolts up from her position in his arms, immediately missing the weight of his warm body pressed against her. She feels a twinge of nausea from the anxiety of having slept for hours in his bed. “Fuck,” she says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Shush, Swan, let a man sleep,” he says, attempting to reach his right arm back around her waist and pull her back to him.

“What time is it?” she asks, not exactly expecting him to answer as she reaches for her phone in her pants pocket on the floor.

“Time for more sleep.”

5:38, the clock on her phone reads. She supposes it could be worse.

“I have to go.” She hears him whining, rolling to press his face to the pillow they shared in the night, his arm still reaching for the spot on the bed that she just left empty. “I’ll see you later, probably.”

“I’ll see you on your birthday. I’ll be the one in my birthday suit.”

“Killian! How do you even know that saying?” She sees his eyes fly open for the first time that morning, cerulean shocking her.

“You never call me that,” he says, surprise still written on his face.

“It counts, you're still in bed,” she responds flippantly, hopping lightly as she tries to pull up her jeans.

“I’m not complaining.”

“I know,” she smirks, tugging up her boot and zipping it.

When she gets back to the loft, her mother is awake and sitting at the table. She realizes that there are many ways that this can go, with very few probabilities in her favor.

“Emma, you're back. I was getting worried.”

“I haven’t been gone long,” she lies, hoping Mary Margaret wasn’t awake the whole time. “Sorry, I was… just having trouble sleeping.”

“That’s alright. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Emma answers, trying to give as little information as possible, still ignoring the twist in her gut.

“Good. You should get some rest, that was a pretty long walk you took,” she says with a slight smirk to her face, and Emma feels a sense of dread settling over her. Maybe she wasn’t awake when she left at 12, but she’s at least been up for a while now. “By the way, I was wondering what you wanted me to make for Thursday? I’ve never had the chance to make your favorite meal, so I don’t even know what it is.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Spaghetti and meatballs maybe?”

“Yum! I can do that,” she grins, writing something down in a small book on the table before her. “And what about the guest list? I wasn’t sure who else to invite. Maybe Ashley and Ruby? And of course, Neal.”

“Oh—”

“Ashley was one of your first friends here in Storybrooke, right? And Ruby’s always been a friend to us. I suppose in that case I would extend it to Granny. Was there anyone else you could think of?”

“Um—”

“Maybe this is more for Henry, but I was even considering Regina.”

“I invited Killian,” she says suddenly, stupidly. Now her mother is going to wonder when she would have time to have invited Hook between yesterday when she suggested the small gathering and now.

“Who?”

“Killian,” she says, noting that Mary Margaret’s confused face hasn’t changed. “…Hook”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… I’ll just have to make sure we have room at the table…”

“Well, you just asked me if I wanted to invite anyone else, so… he should fit.”

“No, no, that’s fine! I mean, if you want Hook to be here… as long as everyone’s… appropriate.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she says, anger rising more quickly than she anticipated.

“Well, that’s fine, Emma. It’s your birthday. Why don’t you head up to bed, okay? We can talk more about this in the morning.”

She isn’t sure what else there is to talk about, but she nods, turning towards the stairs and climbing them quickly.

Once she reaches the top, she’s exhausted again and gets into bed. She falls asleep longing for the feeling of his strong arms around her.

~~~~

When Thursday morning comes, she wakes up feeling anxious and dreadful. Henry spent last night with Regina, so when she rises from sleep, she’s alone in the upper level of the loft. Before she can even think about who else might home, before she can think at all, she’s bolting from bed and down the stairs, straight into the bathroom.

She’s not usually one to be sick due to anxiety, but then again, she’s never really felt this anxious before. She’s been feeling like her heart is racing lately, and her nausea and bloating is throwing her off. This is the first time that she’s actually been ill because of her emotional state. She didn’t realize that her birthday dinner would be such a trigger.

Her breasts have also been tender, though, so she assumes it must be anxiety mixed with PMS. That would explain the bloating, too.

When she brushes her teeth and leaves the bathroom, both of her parents are there, staring.

_Ugh._

“Emma, are you alright? Are you sick?”

“I’m fine,” she responds to her mother, who’s face is currently more worried than she’s ever seen it.

“Do you want me to post pone your party tonight? I’m sure everyone would understand if you're not feeling well.”

“No, I’m fine. I think it’s just…” she fades off, not wanting to admit to her father that she’s about to get her period. “It’s fine.” She makes a face at Mary Margaret, placing her hand on her lower stomach and glancing down, then back up at her expectantly.

She thinks her mother understands when she starts nodding lightly and steps back into the kitchen. She sees David’s face fall faintly as he goes back to the couch he was on. “Have some crackers, honey. It’s practically lunch time, do you want some soup?”

“It is?”

“It’s,” she glances down at her watch, “11:47.” 

“Jeez, I didn’t even realize how tired I was.”

Mary Margaret gives her a look that she can’t quite read, maybe something to do with her staying out so late the other night, before moving to the fridge and pulling out a Tupperware full of chicken soup that she made earlier in the week.

Emma spent the afternoon enjoying her soup and crackers, and her nausea went away almost completely until around 3:00 when her mother started to prepare for dinner.

“Oh my god, is that meat bad?”

Her mother’s face falls immediately as she mixes the ground beef and sausage together with some breadcrumbs and an egg in a large bowl. “I don’t think so, why?”

“I can smell it from here,” Emma says from the high countertop through her cupped hands.

“I don’t smell anything. I hope it isn’t bad, Emma, I don’t think I have time to go to the store. Henry should be here any minute, maybe he can let us know?”

Emma nods, pulling her brows together, still holding her breath as much as she can.

When Henry does arrive, he smells nothing.

“Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something, honey?”

Henry looks concerned now too, and says, “maybe you are getting sick, mom.”

She nods, “I guess I must be. Maybe it’s the change in the weather.”

“Emma we really can post pone your dinner tonight.”

She shudders at the thought of having to put it off rather than just getting the damn thing over with. “No, it’s okay. I really do feel better with the soup. If I still feel bad tomorrow I’ll go to the doctor, promise.”

Mary Margaret nods as she pulls a pan of cooked meatballs from the oven and replaces it with a pan of raw ones. Emma considers gagging outwardly at the site of them but holds back. “So, does everyone know what time to come by tonight?”

“I think so,” Emma says hesitantly. Mary Margaret was the one who invited everyone, after all. Everyone but… “I told Killian yesterday when I saw him at Granny’s.”

“Who?” Henry asks at the same time as David.

She groans inwardly, “Killian. You were there yesterday, Henry. I was talking to him while I paid the bill for lunch, remember?”

“Killian? You mean Captain Hook?”

“ _Hook?!_ ” David nearly shouts, jumping from the couch and sending the TV remote flying to the floor.

“Emma invited him,” Mary Margaret adds, and Emma nearly feels herself having an aneurism.

“ _Why?_ ” David asks, judgement clear in his voice.

“Why? What do you mean, why? He’s… he’s my friend.”

“He’s your friend,” he says back, not asking, more like clarifying. Like he’s trying to wrap his head around the absurd thought.

“Yeah, my friend, or… something like that,” Emma responds, fighting the smirk that threatens to make an appearance.

“When did this happen?” Mary Margaret asks.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, somewhat lying. “He helped us out a lot when… with Henry.” He looks up at the mention of his name and smiles softly at her.

“Yeah, and let me sleep in his room.”

“Yeah. And he didn’t have to help us. He showed us around the whole island. He saved David. He helped with Neal. He got us _off_ the island.”

“I guess,” Mary Margaret says tentatively.

“But he’s a pirate,” David interjects. Emma rolls her eyes.

“And you were a shepherd. And Mary Margaret was a bandit. And I was in prison. We all have a past, so what? You don’t have to chastise him for his when he’s been nothing but helpful and kind since we left for Neverland.”

“But are we sure that his past is truly in his past, Emma?” David asks, and why won’t he just _stop?_

“ _You_ might not be, but _I_ sure am!” she brushes past everyone, walking towards the bathroom and slamming the door. She doesn’t know when she regressed into teenage-hood, throwing tantrums when her parents disagree with her over a guy.

_“Is she alright?”_ she hears Henry ask, and _shit_ , now she’s made her kid worried over her.

_“I think she’s just not feeling well, Henry,”_ her mother responds.

_“Is Captain Hook really coming tonight?”_

_“I guess so…”_

_“I don’t know if there’s room at the table for his huge ego,”_ her father says, and she can hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

_“David,”_ Mary Margaret starts. “ _If Emma says he’s her friend… I mean, it is her birthday.”_

_“You're right, you're right. I just don’t understand why she would want the_ pirate _at her birthday dinner.”_

She isn’t sure how much longer she can stay hidden in the bathroom, especially when she wants to burst out the door and start yelling at everyone again, so she splashes her face with water, takes a deep breath to try and ground herself, and opens the door.

“You would all do well to remember that Hook is the reason that we got to and from Neverland in the first place. He didn’t know Henry got taken when he left, and he made the decision to come back on his own. He even took us to Neverland, a place he _despises_ , and helped us get him back. If he wasn’t there, we… we wouldn’t have succeeded. And I just think everyone should remember that before passing judgement on who he was in his past.”

If her father wanted to make a comment about Hook’s past not being very far behind him, the face she shoots at him quiets him.

~~~~

Her mood does not improve as the night goes on. Regina does end up coming, and although Mary Margaret says it’s for Henry’s benefit, Emma wonders what she ever did to deserve the snarky remarks and judgmental looks.

When Neal arrives, he hugs her, and she returns it with one arm. He gives her a kitschy silver bracelet with an _E_ pendant dangling from it and she plasters on a fake smile, thanking him and putting it on her left wrist. Her skin is starting to turn green after 20 minutes.

Granny and Ruby come next, Ashley close behind, and each give her a big hug and wish her a happy birthday. Granny makes a comment about them not having any emergencies lately, and everyone finds a piece of wood to knock on. Ashley goes to the kitchen with Mary Margaret and asks if she can help with anything before being assigned salad duty.

When Killian arrives, it’s David who answers the door, and Emma remembers the last time he stood in this doorway with David in front of him. When she looks over, she sees that rather than wearing his huge coat, he’s sporting a much more modern leather jacket that lands just above his hips, along with a pair of black jeans. She thinks she starts sweating.

“Hook,” David says tightly.

“David,” he replies.

Emma stands from the bar stool she perched herself at in an effort to get away from Neal earlier and walks to the door, practically shoving her father out of the way and facing Killian.

“Hi,” she says with a smile, perhaps her first of the day.

“Happy birthday, love,” he says, handing her a big bouquet of flowers that he was hiding behind his back.

“Wow,” she says, taking the bouquet in her hands and drawing it up to her nose to inhale the scent of the beautiful arrangement of fall colors. Their fragrance is mild and fresh. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

She thinks the entire loft has fallen silent and everyone is looking at them, but she hardly cares. She’s sort of surprised that he even came, so she’s completely shocked that he brought her something. She shoots him another smile from behind the flowers and spins around, heading for the kitchen to find a vase.

“Hi, Hook,” she hears Henry say, and she smiles again. Leave it to her kid to be the most mature adult in the room.

“Hello lad.” She allows the rest of their conversation to fade from her attention as she pulls a vase down from a shelf, maneuvering her way around Ashley, and fills it with water.

“Those are beautiful Emma!” her mother says, grabbing a pair of scissors and picking up the bouquet before cutting off the ends of the stems. “Are they from Neal?”

Emma wants so badly to ignore her, but she doesn’t have to when she sees Killian and Neal talking and her heart jumps to her throat. She’s about to go over to them and put out whatever fire was just started, but when she sees a small smile gracing Killian’s face and Neal nodding, she feels her heartrate go down slightly. Despite how horribly the interaction could go, everything seems to be going well so far.

When Mary Margaret calls everyone to the table, Emma feels isolated despite being sat next to Henry. He’s sitting next to Regina and is deep in conversation with her about a movie they just watched, and far be it for Emma to get in the way of their improving relationship. To her right side is Neal, who keeps trying to talk to her while also weirdly flirting with her mother. Both Mary Margaret and David hang on his every word, and it drives Emma absolutely mad.

Killian is next to Granny, across the table and to her right, and Emma thinks that the arrangement can’t be coincidental. There’s no doubt in her mind that Mary Margaret sat them next to each other because she’s relying on Granny to draw out her crossbow and shoot him square in the chest should the need arise or the royal decree be avowed.

Mary Margaret brings the salad to the table and Emma serves herself, and once she pours the Italian dressing into her bowl, she fights the urge to jump from the table and run to the bathroom and be sick purely from the smell. No one seems to notice that she isn’t touching her salad, luckily.

David pours Emma a glass of rancid-smelling chardonnay that she stares at all evening.

Everyone is deep in conversation, and even Killian seems to be engrossed talking to Ashley about Alexandra’s milestones. When the spaghetti and meatballs are brought to the table, she grabs a serving and thinks she’ll be alright when she starts eating, but nearly gets sick after a bite. She sticks to bread throughout the meal and doesn’t think that anyone notices her pushing her food around her plate with her fork like a 4-year-old.

When dinner is over, Killian stands before Mary Margaret has a chance to and begins collecting everyone’s plates.

Once the table is cleared, dishes scraped into the garbage and stacked neatly in a sink filled with warm soapy water, David shuts off the lights and Mary Margaret carries out a cake covered in exactly 29 flaming birthday candles. She slowly and ceremoniously starts singing the first half of the word _happy_ and everyone immediately joins in, and Emma can’t fight the grin that splits her face. She almost makes it through the song before she feels tears falling from her eyes and onto her cheeks at the realization that this is the first birthday that she’s ever spent with her whole family. Then she realizes that her last birthday was the first time she met Henry, and her life changed forever. She’s drawn from her sappy thoughts when she sees Neal reaching for her face to wipe her tears and her knee-jerk reaction is to recoil from his touch.

She blows out her candles, thinking about the last time she made a wish and the fact that it came true, and hopes for a happy ending.

She can’t stomach the cake.

~~~~

When the night ends, after she watches Killian wash all of the dishes while everyone else sits talking at the table, she walks him out of the apartment and down to the street. Henry has gone home with Regina for the night, and everyone else is still talking loudly over their coffee, so she slips out relatively unnoticed.

“You really didn’t have to do the dishes, you know,” she says with a smile as they make their way down the stairs.

“Seemed like the honorable thing to do,” he jests.

“And you are a man of honor, aren’t you?”

“Aye, that’s right, love. And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t, I haven’t.” She feels the conversation shift more seriously and smiles again.

Once they’re outside, he turns to face her and his smile falters. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You hardly touched your dinner, love. You only ate bread. I thought you said your mother was making your favorite meal?” He brushes some hair away from her eyes and behind her ear softly as he speaks, and once he drops his hand, she takes it in hers.

“I’m fine. I might just be coming down with something.”

“And you were crying during the song,” he says, and she realizes he probably had no idea what was happening at that point in the evening. “Was it supposed to be a sad song? It sounded rather upbeat.”

She grins at him, in disbelief at his inexperience in the modern world. “No, I just realized… I don’t know, I guess I just got a little emotional. It was… this was the first time I’ve ever spent my birthday with my family. Aside from when Henry got me last year.”

He nods and smiles softly at her. Then his hand leaves hers and he reaches into his coat, pulling out a tiny box. “I didn’t want to give you this in front of everyone,” he rationalizes.

She takes the black velvet box from him, staring at him and then prying it open. Inside is a delicate silver chain holding six small diamonds arranged in a V shape, with a slightly larger green gemstone sat in the bottom center of them. She thinks it must be _real_ silver and _real_ diamonds based on the amount of shine beaming off of the stunning piece of jewelry.

He must be able to read the confused but astonished look on her face, because he jumps in to explain immediately. “This one is peridot,” he says, pointing to the vivid green stone. “It’s Henry’s birthstone. And it… it matches your eyes.” His soft voice catches, and she realizes that he’s nervous.

For the second time in a very short period, she feels tears pricking her eyes and is hardly capable of holding in her emotions. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispers meekly, her voice shaking as she’s unable to look at him in his eyes. She feels him reaching up and wiping her tears and she rests her cheek against his hand. “How did you get it in such a short time?” This isn’t just some random necklace he found at Target.

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets, darling,” he says with a tender smile as his thumb wipes away another tear.

“Can you help me put it on?” she sniffles.

“Aye,” he answers, taking it from her as she spins and moves her hair out of his way. She holds the end with the small metal loop as he clasps it closed and presses a soft kiss to the skin under the chain.

When she turns around again, she kisses him, unable to stop herself and unable to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. She’s probably snotty too, considering the fact that she’s basically full-on crying now, but she honestly doesn’t care because he’s kissing her back with such passion and adoration that she thinks she might explode.

Her fingers find their home in his hair and he’s cupping her cheek as he uses his hook arm and pulls her closer, pressing her back lightly against the brick exterior of the building. His thumb runs along her jawline and his fingers find their way into her hair, caressing her scalp comfortingly.

She just starts to think that they should stop, that she’s been gone for too long and someone will become curious, when she hears the door open and shut to her left. She doesn’t pull away quickly enough, though.

“Emma, are you—oh.” _Shit._ “Sorry, I didn’t mean to... um… interrupt. I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you a happy birthday. Granny’s on her way down.”

“Thanks, Ruby. And thanks for coming,” Emma responds shakily, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was just caught making out with Killian.

He took his hand off her the second they heard Ruby’s voice and stepped back from her once she rounded the corning, but she knows that they weren’t discreet enough and that they’ve just been caught in the act.

“Of course, dinner was delicious!”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Oh, and Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“Your little secret is safe with me,” she says with a wink and a smirk that could rival Killian’s.

When Emma gets back to the loft, she’s sweaty and her eyes feel swollen, and despite the fact that Ruby just walked in on them, she feels happier than she has all evening. The necklace Killian gave her is absolutely stunning, and she tucked it safely beneath her sweater on her way up the stairs. Aside from its obvious beauty, she can’t get over the thoughtfulness behind the gift. Not only did he get her a gift, he got her something so much more personal than she ever could have imagined. More personal than anything she’s ever received before.

Once she’s in the loft with the door clicking shut behind her, she sees that Neal has overindulged on the wine and is now drunk.

“Ems! You're back! What took so long?” he slurs.

“Uh, I was saying bye to Ruby and Granny,” she fibs, although it’s not altogether untrue.

“I should actually be going, too. Thank you for dinner, Snow,” Ashley says, reaching in for a hug.

“Oh, it was so nice seeing you! We should get together more often!”

“Definitely,” she replies with a smile before turning to Emma. “Happy birthday, Emma, I’m so glad you had a nice evening!”

“Thanks for coming Ashley,” she says, hugging her as well.

Once she’s gone, Mary Margaret and David go back into the kitchen to finish putting away the dishes and Emma sits on the couch before Neal plops himself down next to her.

“I’m glad you had a good night, Em,” he says, leaning close to her as she stiffens.

“Yeah, it was nice getting everyone together.”

“Hey, how come Hook was here, anyway?” His voice is loud and his tone is slightly accusatory, and she feels that twinge of irritation that she’s grown all too accustomed to in the last week or so.

“Because I invited him,” she practically spits back, sitting forward as he lifts his arm over the back of the couch.

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“Because he’s my friend and I wanted my friend to come to my damn birthday dinner, is that alright with you?” She certainly doesn’t have to raise her voice as him, but it's difficult not to at this point.

“No, I just didn’t know you and Hook were friends. I thought he was gonna back off.”

_Here he goes_ , she thinks. Her eyes find their usual spot in the back of her head. “Maybe you should go before you say something you regret,” she says softly to disguise her anger.

“Emma, I was just thinking maybe you should walk Neal home? To make sure he gets home safely? Someone’s had a bit too much wine,” Mary Margaret interrupts with a knowing smile shot Neal’s way.

“Then David has to come with me,” She shoots back. “I can’t exactly support his weight if he topples over.”

“Happily!” David says, and the fact that Emma’s parents are obsessed with Neal just continues to piss her off.

Once they get him to Granny’s, David decides to wait outside so that Emma can _say goodnight,_ David’s words. If Emma thought she was nauseous and had a headache before…

“Thanks for getting me home safe, Ems,” Neal says with a flirty voice, swaying into his room and coming dangerously close to falling straight to the floor.

“Yeah, goodnight,” she says as she tries to back out of the room, but he quickly grabs her hand and pulls her into his grasp against him, her arms pinned between their chests. “Neal—”

“Come on, Emma, what’s holding you back? We’ve been dancing around this for weeks, let’s just make it happen.”

“Nothing is gonna _happen_ , Neal, let me go,” she says, pushing against his chest but somehow, even in his drunken state, he’s surprisingly solid.

“What, because of the pirate? He said he would back off and give us a chance. Let’s just take it,” he says, and he’s backing up and dragging her along with him before they tumble onto his squeaky bed with her landing on top of him. Despite her best efforts to push him away, his grip remains strong and he shoves his face to hers, making the slightest contact between their mouths.

“Stop!” she shouts, finally shoving her way out of his grasp, while possibly doing some damage to his internal organs, and standing. “Hook isn’t what’s standing in your way! When are you gonna get it through your thick skull that we are never going to work? We will never be together, Neal!”

Her shouts fall on deaf ears, literally, because the bastard has fallen asleep.

With tears in her eyes, _again_ , she flees from his room and takes a moment to breathe outside the door before walking to the stairs to meet David and head back to the loft.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my labor of love!! There's more to come for Emma, so expect a part 3 soon! Follow me on tumblr @ elizabeethan for updates and other fun things! I love reading your comments and messages!


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